Charade
by Lugubrious DBB
Summary: Anxiety and introversion never escape Elsa, not even three years after revealing what she is and assuming her office. Thankfully, Anna is there to remind her of what she can be on her best day, even when she has no reason to believe it herself. Takes place during the early scenes of "Frozen II."


**Charade**

Elsa didn't _really _hate the pillow.

No, she, in point of fact, did not, although one would be hard pressed to conclude otherwise based upon the fury etched upon her face as she tore at the fabric with all her might. With a cry of unadulterated rage, the Snow Queen of Arendelle ripped the exterior fabric from the furnishing, soft down flying every which way as it was released from its confinement.

The unpredictability of the feathers' movements only served to further inflame Elsa's wrath, their unrestrained freedom mocking her to no end. A stream of blue and silver light emanated from her hand, the light trapping one group of feathers within its grasp, encasing them in a large block of ice that fell to the floor with a loud _thud_. Again and again the young woman unleashed the frigid light from her hands, ice block after ice block colliding with the floor, the feathers serving as unwitting prisoners of her rampage.

"AAAGGHHH!"

What was left of the pillow was nothing more than a tangled, torn mass of fabric in Elsa's grasp, objective evidence of her complete disavowal of control over her emotions. Sinking to the floor, the young monarch buried her face in her hands. Anger was quickly replaced with embarrassment, which in turn mutated into the all-too-familiar sensations of shame, guilt, self-loathing. She was crying, she realized, and she—

A knock sounded at her bedroom door, followed by the sound of the door opening, hesitant footsteps quietly daring to intrude upon her solitude. "Elsa?"

_Oh, no!_

The queen looked up to see her sister approaching, concern evident upon the young woman's face. Desperately, she racked her brain to try to concoct a believable lie to explain the scene, only to give up seconds later as she realized nothing she said would convince Anna that everything was perfectly fine . . . perfectly _normal._

"Hey."

Anna was kneeling beside her now, her hand moving to delicately rest upon Elsa's shoulder, her fingers moving the queen's braid from her shoulder, allowing it to hang freely down Elsa's back. "Good thing I didn't buy you that pillow set I was thinking of getting for your birthday," the princess said, doing her best to relieve the tension in the air. "Apparently, you're not a big fan of them after all."

Elsa felt her cheeks burning, her eyes turning downward, not daring to look at Anna. "I . . . I . . ." She wiped her eyes, swallowing. "How much . . . How much did you—"

Anna winced involuntarily, the sound of her sister's anguished scream from moments earlier still ringing in her ears. "All of it, I think."

"Great."

Elsa shook her head, a bitter laugh emanating from her throat. "I . . . I'm so sorry," she murmured. "I don't know what came over me."

"Yes, you do."

Anna cupped Elsa's chin in her palm, slowly but firmly bringing her older sister's chin upward, until Elsa's eyes of frigid blue were level with her own. "No secrets, remember?" Anna chided gently. "Not between us. Ever again."

Anna's own eyes widened slightly, a thought coursing through her mind. "Was it the charades? I'm not _really_ upset that we lost, you know! I know I get a little too competitive, but darn it, it's just not _fair _that Olaf can—"

"No."

Elsa closed her eyes, her brow furrowing as the familiar anxiety began to bubble and foam inside her spirit. "I mean, yes. I mean, I . . . I just . . ."

She pressed her hands to her temples. "What is _wrong _with me?" she whispered.

"Nothing," Anna insisted, her voice firm as she wrapped her arms around her sister's shoulders. "Nothing at all."

Elsa opened her eyes, her gaze filled with misery. "You know that's not true." She glanced down at the tattered remains of the pillow. "I hate it."

Anna frowned. She had not seen Elsa like this in a long, long time. Not since she had returned to the 'Delle after unintentionally unleashing her near godlike power over ice and snow upon the kingdom. It had taken, Anna recalled, several weeks after that incident for Elsa to accept that she was not fully responsible for her actions, to emerge from the invisible cage of self-doubt and misery that had held her within its prison for so long, to finally accept that she was a person worthy of love and not a monster to be feared.

"What do you hate?" Again, Anna tried to lighten the mood. "That pillow? I agree. I never really liked it either myself. I mean, the color, the stitching, just . . . _yecch_—"

"You know what I mean."

Elsa was wringing her hands again, as she always did, Anna knew, when she was feeling overwhelmed, when her anxiety, self-doubt, and anger at herself for having failed to live up to the standard of perfection she believed was required of her were oppressing her. It was difficult in moments like this, Anna contemplated, for Anna to _not_ feel at least a passing sense of anger toward their parents—God rest their souls—for having done this to Elsa, however well-meaning they may have been. For having convinced their eldest daughter that the only way to keep Arendelle—_Anna _herself—safe was to deny what she was, to imprint upon her, albeit without malicious intent, a sense of profound guilt over having been born with incredible abilities she never asked for. For Elsa's self-doubt and lack of confidence that were the inevitable byproducts of thirteen years spent in virtual isolation.

"My whole life is a charade." Elsa's voice was little more than a whisper, no louder than the soft sound of an autumn leaf fluttering through the air as it fell to the ground.

Anna frowned. "You know I hate it when you speak in riddles," she said teasingly. "Charades is one thing. Riddles, not so—"

"I mean it."

Elsa's mask had evaporated, the regal, elegant face she showed to the world nowhere to be found, replaced instead with the haunted gaze Anna had come to hate seeing her display. "I've tried, Anna. I really, really have. But I'm not you. It takes everything I have to make it through all the important state dinners, all the meetings with foreign dignitaries I have to have to keep myself from running back to my palace on the North Mountain and locking myself away." She shuddered. "I try my best to put on a confident face. To pretend I enjoy all of it. But I'm just not comfortable around other people. Not even . . ."

She closed her eyes again, her cheeks red with humiliation once again as she recalled just how damn _timid _she had been during the game of charades earlier that evening. She had _wanted _to answer so many times, wanted to enjoy herself, but Kristoff had kept guessing again and again in rapid succession, while she, like some young schoolgirl, had stupidly raised her hand, too unsure of herself to simply blurt out her response, her hand clutching the pillow in a near death grip as if simply holding it would take all her fear, all her stress away—

Anna nodded understandingly. Wordlessly, she moved her hands to Elsa's, cupping the queen's fingertips in her grasp, squeezing them ever so gently. Her motion had its desired effect. The anxiety on Elsa's face lessened noticeably, Anna's touch a reminder of how much progress Elsa had, in fact, made over the past three years. Three years earlier, Anna ruminated, Elsa would never have allowed her to touch her hands for fear of what her magic could potentially to Anna were it to be accidentally unleashed. Now, the young queen did not even flinch involuntarily at her sister's touch.

"You're doing it again," Anna said matter-of-factly. "You're holding yourself to a standard no one could possibly meet. Not even someone so incredible as you."

"I hate it," Elsa repeated, opening her eyes once more, her gaze returning to the tattered remnants of the pillow. "I feel like a child who needs his blanket to make himself feel better." She bowed her head. "I didn't really want to destroy it, you know. I just . . . Tonight's the worst I've felt in a long time, and I guess I just sort of took all of it out on the pillow because I never realized until tonight just how overwhelmed all of this . . ." She threw up her hands. "How all of the responsibility and duties of my office makes me feel." She shook her head. "What sort of queen am I?"

"The best kind."

Smiling, Anna stood, pulling Elsa to her feet as well. "I mean it! I _wish_ I could make you see yourself the way everyone else does." A thought suddenly crossed her mind. "Here."

Before Elsa could stop her, Anna pulled the queen before the mirror hanging from the opposite wall. "What do you see?"

Elsa blanched as she saw her own reflection. The young woman staring back at her from within the glass bore a countenance laced with barely concealed anxiety. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot, her lips drawn, her posture withdrawn, awkward. "This isn't helping," she muttered.

"Try harder!" Anna insisted. "Please, Elsa. _Look _. . ."

Anna stepped closer, her hands wrapping around Elsa's waist, her chin resting on the queen's shoulder. Elsa inhaled sharply as, before her eyes, the anxiety melted away from her reflection's face. The Elsa in the mirror was suddenly standing taller now, her posture elegant, refined. Her face was no longer drawn and filled with worry, but now, rather, projected confidence, authority. It was as if Anna's mere presence was enough to transform the young queen for the better, to bring out the best in her. To make her, Elsa realized, more than she herself realized she could be.

"There it is!"

Anna was smiling broadly now, her eyes filled with pride as she beheld her sister's reflection. "Do you see it now?"

Elsa turned around. "What would I do without you?"

Anna laughed. "You never have to worry about the answer. I will always be here for you. And I will always do whatever it takes to make you happy." She glanced briefly at the tattered remains of the pillow. "Even if that means destroying every pillow in Arendelle."

It was Elsa's turn to laugh, her anxiety and melancholy quickly receding from the forefront of her consciousness thanks to her sister's efforts. "That . . . That won't be necessary."

"I'm serious!" Anna insisted, glancing at Elsa's bed. "I'm sure I can get used to sleeping on other things. Kristoff says rocks make surprisingly excellent pillows. After you get used to how hard they are, that is."

"I don't _really _hate pillows," Elsa said. "Not that much, at least."

Anna nodded. "Glad to hear that. Because I didn't _really _want to sleep on rocks, you know." She moved to Elsa's bed. "Speaking of sleep, by the way . . ." She patted the mattress, gesturing for her older sister to join her, a loud yawn escaping her throat. "Come on, Your Majesty. It's late, and you need your sleep, especially after the night you've had."

Elsa glanced at the bed, then back to her sister. "You're staying the night in here?"

Anna folded her arms. "I insist. Unless you have a problem with that, in which case I'm asserting sister's rights and overruling you."

Elsa raised an eyebrow. "'Sister's rights'?"

"Okay, fine." Anna shrugged elaborately. "I made that up. But it sounds like a real thing. It _should _be a real thing."

The queen sat on the bed. "Fair enough. Just promise me you'll do your best not to snore."

"I _don't _snore!" Anna retorted, lying down on the other side of the bed.

"I beg to differ."

"Hey!"

"All right, you don't snore," Elsa conceded, lying down. She paused for a moment. "Much."

Anna didn't respond. Elsa raised her head from her pillow, smiling slightly as, in the soft moonlight emanating from the window, she saw the princess with her eyes already closed, her mouth open, breathing deeply, rhythmically.

_My whole life is a charade._

Her own words from earlier ringing in her mind, Elsa shook her head. "Not really," she whispered to herself. "Not my whole life." Carefully, slowly, she brought her lips to her sister's brow, kissing her gently, taking care not to wake her. "This . . . Our sisterhood . . . Our love . . . This is _real_ . . ."

Elsa closed her own eyes, sleep beginning to overtake her. _I may not love being queen, _she thought to herself. _But this right here is something I never want to change . . ._

* * *

**AN: An scene that could easily take place after the charades scene in _Frozen II_.**


End file.
